Gillyflowers, Maybe
by Ratty Darling
Summary: Revenge, at first thought to be sweet, lasts for a transient amount of time until it’s true colors and taste of bitterness emerge from revenges shadow. Sweenett/ToddettX3
1. Chapter One

_**Gillyflowers, Maybe**_

_**Chapter One**_

"Gillyflowers maybe, 'stead of daisies, I don't know though, what do you think?" Were Mrs. Lovett's words that Mr. Todd still pondered upon from time to time. Trying to figure out their meanings, why flowers had anything to do with his revenge, when in reality the answer was as obvious as the crimson fluid dripping from the end of his razor. Revenge, at first thought to be sweet, lasts for a transient amount of time until it's true colors and taste of bitterness emerge from revenges shadow.

Gillyflowers was not on the list of things that Sweeney Todd could, or chose to, tolerate. Not that his list of tolerations were long anyways…

Flowers reminded him of his Lucy, their clove-scented scent reminded him of his beloved's perfume. Their soft petals reminded him of her delicate skin, which made him recall the times he stayed up for hours upon hours admiring her radiating beauty. Oh, she was beautiful. Flowers were one of the very last things he saw when he saw her. Everything after getting hit on his head by a policeman was a blur. He remembered seeing Lucy, terrifed, clutching Johanna to her tightly as he was dragged away, dragged away from his sanity.

It had been just a few weeks since his revenge was complete. One of Mr. Todd's main problems was the fact that he couldn't forget which led him to taking charge and getting his revenge. But sadly, revenge only made things worse. He no longer spoke, only to answer Mrs. Lovett's simple questions like, "Are you feeling alright, love?" and "Do you need anything from the market?" The Judge was the last man he had ever killed, Toby thankfully didn't go to the law on that fateful night, as a matter of fact Mrs. Lovett nor Mr. Todd had no idea as to where he ran off to, died, or what. Day by day he felt as if he lost another part of himself, as if he was just gradually fading away, the same feeling he had when he was transported to Australia. It was true, revenge was surely beginning to be the death of him, and it was slowly cutting his soul deeper and deeper as the seconds passed.

Mr. Todd still didn't keep his word to marry Mrs. Lovett and live by the seaside. It bothered her, of course, but naturally she didn't say anything. After all, it was as if the man had lost his mind and he could no longer function on his own. She even had a hard time sleeping at night for the fear that the next time she would see him was when she would see him hanging from a noose in his shop.

Mrs. Lovett had told Mr. Todd to wait and to take things slow, think it through, afterall time was so fast that is all you really could do without making any big mistakes you'd regret later. Perhaps he had overlooked what she had said and was too busy thinking of the Judge to even hear or understand what she was talking about. Looking back on it now he felt he had a pretty good idea on what she had meant, and a small part of him wished he had moved on and forgotten about his revenge.

It was an average day on Fleet Street and the fliers and newspapers about Judge Turpin's and Beadle Bamford's disappearance seemed to have made their way around London and was now yesterdays news. Some people believed that him and Johanna ran off and eloped somewhere. Others believed that the Beadle went with them. But the fact of the matter was, Judge Turpin and Beadle Bamford were now floating around in the sewers being their true forms, dirty pieces of crap. _Literally._

Mrs. Lovett's business had grown slower in the past week ever since she ran out of Turpin and Beadle meat. Not to mention Mr. Todd closed his business. The poor thing just couldn't handle it, being all cooped up in that room of his all day long… Mrs. Lovett pitied him but at the same time she couldn't help but want to scowl at him, she tried to tell him to forget about his revenge and get on with his life but he wouldn't hear of it.

Mr. Todd was simply doing his usual thing, sitting in his barber chair brooding, or in more accurate words, sulking, when Mrs. Lovett came in with his breakfast.

"Brought ya some breakfast Mista T." Mrs. Lovett said happily as she walked in and sat his food on his desk, "I seemed to have lost my appetite for some reason so I gave ya extra." Although she didn't expect him to eat hardly any of it…

She stood in the middle of his shop as he continued ignore her, nervously fumbling with her apron as she did so.

Mrs. Lovett had given up on conversation with him days ago so before turning she looked at his face. He was just staring out of the window and she could see his expression in it. It looked so broken and dead. Mrs. Lovett suddenly had a headache and then decided to head down the stairs.

She didn't know why but she hadn't been feeling well lately. It was now she noticed how warm her forehead was, come to think of it she didn't feel well at all. So without further hesitation she went and lied down.

--

She awoke hours later, at what appeared to be the evening and automatically felt that her headache had no longer gone away. With frustration Mrs. Lovett cursed at herself and sat up out of bed, when after a few moments of thinking she loosened her tense shoulders and thought there was no difference anyways. After all, she never really had anything to do anyways, nobody ever came in for a pie, and Mr. Todd seemed to have kept to himself nowadays.

The rest of her day went by as she made Mr. Todd his dinner, organized her bookshelf and swept in the parlor. She tried to do as much as she could to get her mind off of her headache which was beginning to make her want to hang herself from a noose.

At around eleven that night Mrs. Lovett sighed, her headache finally had gone but every time she touched her forehead she felt as if she had just stuck her hand into a burning oven. She could only hope that whatever she had would go away in a couple of days, but in the meantime all she could do was, _wait. _


	2. Chapter Two

_**Gillyflowers, Maybe**_

_**Chapter Two**_

The next few days quickly came and passed. Mrs. Lovett's mysterious illness still hadn't gone, it just got worse. For the first few hours of the second day of her not feeling well, she went about with her usual rounds, luckily for her there wasn't much to do. Nothing much to clean being that she never had any customers and the only person she needed to keep food in the house for was for Mr. Todd and herself and neither of them ate that much anyways. Today, however, she couldn't even get herself out of bed without feeling dizzy. Her head still ached, her body was beginning to do the same, and she was now feeling sick to her stomach.

Mr. Todd took no notice to Mrs. Lovett's sickness and went on without even knowing what time of day it was or anything. He just sat, ate a few bites of whatever Mrs. Lovett brought him and occasionally had a glass of gin. But today he came to the realization that he hadn't heard from Mrs. Lovett all morning.

Coming out of his shop for the first time in a week he descended the stairs and walked to the pie shop door. Peering in, he saw no sign of anyone being in there, at all. Entering the shop he walking into the parlor, he again found that the place was empty.

_Did she die somewhere? _He thought as he looked around the room some more.

He was about to turn back to his cave-barber shop when her heard a small cough coming from Mrs. Lovett's bedroom door.

_Not in there. _He thought, well, at least she wasn't lying dead somewhere. He didn't know what he wanted, he wasn't even sure why he was down there looking for her in the first place. All he knew was that Mrs. Lovett had grown to be the closest thing to him that he had. A friend, maybe. A good acquaintance, possibly. But a former accomplice, defiantly.

So he bravely walked over to her door and cleared his throat.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

His knocks were sharp, but not too loud, accurate, as if the finest hands in London have just knocked on her door.

"Who is it?" She managed to ask, unsure if it was him or not, being that he hardly ever left his room anymore.

"Me." He replied in his same monotone voice.

_What did he want? _"Come in."

Nervously, he opened the door.

There she was, on her bed covered by a quilt. She looked utterly horrible.

Her face was pale, paler than usual, her eyes looked as if they hadn't slept for days and she looked, well, exhausted.

"What is it love?" Mrs. Lovett asked as she attempted to sit up.

Noticing her struggle he went over and pushed her back down.

"You don't look well." Mr. Todd said, stating the obvious.

Mrs. Lovett looked at him rather suspiciously, _was he into the gin again? _Which was odd because he didn't look drunk, nor did he look tipsy. "It's probably just a cold or somethin, I'll be fine."

"I could go get you a doctor if you like." Mr. Todd replied, it was strange for him to offer to go out into the streets with all of those other Londoners bumping elbows with him.

"That's not necessary, love, but thank you." Mrs. Lovett then smiled sweetly and closed her eyes. They felt like lead.

Mr. Todd then looked around, he felt awkward being in her room, so he left to go fetch a doctor.

--

The doctor was to arrive at three.

When Mr. Todd got back he went upstairs and collapsed in his barber chair, three o'clock was two hours away. He didn't care in the slightest, or at least he didn't want another dead body rotting around the house.

It was a cruel thing for him to think something of the sort but he didn't want to admit that he was grateful to her, and going out into London and fetching a doctor for her was the closest he would probably ever get.

Three o'clock came soon and the doctor was at the door. He was a short man with a grey beard, he was most likely one of the kindest men in London, and also one of the smartest.

Mr. Todd didn't really greet him when he answered the door, he just opened it and led him through the parlor to Mrs. Lovett's bedroom.

Naturally, he knocked on the door before hearing her faint little voice respond, "Come in." Which was followed by a cough.

Mrs. Lovett smiled when she saw Mr. Todd come in, but then frowned after seeing the short little doctor followed behind him.

"This, Mr. Todd, is it? Tells me you're not feeling your best." The doctor began.

"Oh no, I'm fine, just a small cold is all." Mrs. Lovett replied nervously, she didn't think Mr. Todd would really do that for her.

"Now, now, Madame, no need to worry, let me just see what's wrong with ya." The doctor answered as he took out his spectacles.

--

About fifteen full minutes later the doctor was finished with examining her. The expression on his face had went from focused to doubtful.

"If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Todd-"

"Mrs. Lovett." Mrs. Lovett corrected, she could only dream…

"Mrs. Lovett, forgive me I thought you were married-" The doctor hesitated.

"She's just my neighbor." Sweeney added.

Mr. Todd may not have known it but the words, "-just my neighbor." Stung her heart more than it should have.

"If you don't mind, ma'am, I'd like to speak with Mr. Todd for a moment."

"Not at all." Mrs. Lovett said as the two men left her bedroom.

"How is she sir?" Mr. Todd asked quietly.

The doctor looked up at him, sympathy in his eyes, "It doesn't look good sir, a lot of the signs show that she might have," The doctor cleared his throat. "The plague."

News flashed. Headlines hit. All of the reality in the mind of Sweeney Todd exploded.

His lips trembled, he knew she was ill, but the plague?

"Is she going to be alright?" Were the only words he could think of to say, when he didn't want to say anything at all.

The doctor looked down and closed his doctors bag. "The chances of her getting better are slim to none, I suggest you let her rest and make sure she drinks a lot of water, she is dehydrated, you know where I am if things get worse, but there really isn't anything I can do, I'm sorry."

With those words said the doctor left.

Mr. Todd couldn't help but feel guilty that Mrs. Lovett's chance of having the plague was very high. The rats in the bake house must have bitten her… or something. He didn't know, but he felt it was his fault.

Guilty, as charged, he stared at Mrs. Lovett's door, turning to the kitchen, he poured her a glass of water and filled up a pitcher so she had enough for the day.

"Wot did the doctor say love?" Mrs. Lovett inquired as Mr. Todd entered her bedroom and sat the pitcher of water next to her on the nightstand.

"Drink this." He said, handing her the glass, trying to avoid answering her question.

"Love?" Mrs. Lovett said again after taking a small sip from the water, "It's just a cold right? It'll go away?"

Mr. Todd shook his head in an honest motion, _no._

Mrs. Lovett looked at him, worry started to freeze over her face like ice. "A fever?"

He just couldn't tell her, he couldn't tell her that her life was slowly draining from her and that she was very likely to die.

"He believes you have the plague."

Tears that she determined to not let fall welled in her eyes, "Oh," She replied nodding her head in understanding, "I see, thank you for getting a doctor." She still smiled although she knew her life might be coming to an end. For she was still living the moment of pure ecstasy that Sweeney Todd, the man that she had loved so unconditionally, cared enough to go out and get a doctor for her. And on the list of tolerations for Sweeney Todd, going out on the house was not one of them.

He couldn't look at her anymore, he did all he could, and he didn't want to face her. So he left without another word, to the cages of his barber shop, where he could possibly find enough sanity to not just give up and bury himself in the floorboards of his shop.


	3. Chapter Three

_**Gillyflowers, Maybe**_

_**Chapter Three**_

The day went by slower than it normally did for the rest of the day. Sweeney Todd knew why, somewhere somehow somebody was punishing him. Punishing him for all the times he had ignored her and for all of the murders he committed.

Being bored all cooped up in his shop he figured he could at least go down and see her, after all she might need more water.

So Mr. Todd went downstairs and knocked on Mrs. Lovett's door.

At first there was no answer so he left and came back later on that evening.

"Come in."

Mrs. Lovett was where he had left her, lying on her bed with a pitcher of water and a now empty glass beside her.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, his eyes full of remorse.

"Fine, how are you love?" Was her answer and question as she noticed him taking a seat in the morose chair next to her bed, note it was the only gloomy like thing in her room, besides Mr. Todd, which probably drew him to it.

"Never mind me." Mr. Todd grumbled, ignoring her question.

It was true Mr. Todd believed that everyone deserved to die but he had always excluded a few people that didn't and she happened to be one of the only ones.

They sat in silence for a while until Mrs. Lovett started coughing.

Noticing that she had run out of water Mr. Todd filled Mrs. Lovett another glass and handed it to her.

"Thanks dear." Mrs. Lovett then took a long slug of the water and held the glass with her remaining water in her hands.

Mr. Todd merely grumbled in response.

Minutes passed and Mrs. Lovett was busying herself by tracing a finger around the rim of her glass as Sweeney simply sat and watched her.

"What are you going to do when I'm gone Mista T?" Mrs. Lovett asked as she looked up from her glass.

Sweeney Todd didn't even want to begin to think about life without his accomplice. Although he avoided talking with her it didn't mean that he didn't find some sort of comfort knowing she was there. Mrs. Lovett couldn't die, she was apart of him.

Without the baker, there was no barber.

Feeling guilty because he was just sitting there like a frog on a log he replied, "I don't know, probably get out of here, sail the world like I did before."

"Oh." Mrs. Lovett nodded, slightly bummed out that he was going to abandon the home she had known for years.

--

Hours passed and Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett were fast asleep. Mr. Todd had nodded off while he sat and stared at her, or in more accurate words, through her.

Feeling somewhat guilty he leant down and brushed her stray auborn curls from her face and traced her plump, cabernet lips.

Suddenly she awoke and Sweeney quickly sat back down in his seat. She was slightly taken aback being that he was still down there with her.

"What are you doing down 'ere love?" Mrs. Lovett inquired, savoring the look of his glossy black eyes.

Mr. Todd didn't answer.

She kept staring, searching for an answer. Why was he down here. The man that felt

"You're dying, pet."

"We're all dying love, my turn 'ad to come sometime." Mrs. Lovett replied, her words shockingly calm a she took the tumbler of gin away from him.

Mr. Todd took another seat back in the chair as he drank re-thinking her brave words.

Sweeney Todd was not afraid of death either. For on a mere technicality, we are all dying from the moment we are born. Getting older and older as the seconds go by, but in Mrs. Lovett's case she was just dying quicker and more painfully than she would have if she wasn't ill.

--

After a half hour of staring at each other and attempting to make small talk. Mr. Todd occasionally helping Mrs. Lovett pour more water into her glass, the silence was killing her more than the plague was.

"You can go up to your shop if you want to love." Mrs. Lovett said, secretly hoping he would stay and excuse her gesture.

"I know."

Mrs. Lovett searched his face, his eyes, anything that would tell her why, why was he down here with her. "Why?" She suddenly blurted.

"You never did anything to me, you helped me, and for that I am grateful." Sweeney replied, shocked by his own words of admittance.

_I did nothing but help you slip quicker into insanity. I don't deserve your gratitude. I left out a very important fact which resulted in the death of what was left of your dotty wife. _Mrs. Lovett thought to herself, she couldn't die a liar. She had to tell the truth and deep down she hoped she could die by the hand of her love, and not by the cruelty of the plague.

"Your wife, you killed your wife." Mrs. Lovett stated as she stared directly into Mr. Todd's eyes.

His eyes returned her tear-filled gaze. Hers was of fear and heartbreak. But his was in shock which was quickly going to be transfused with rage.

"How did I, I never…" Mr. Todd lost for words, he didn't know what she meant he didn't remember killing his wife, he didn't even recall slitting the beggar woman's throat.

Mrs. Lovett's eyes grew brighter with tears when she prepared to say what she knew would probably be the death of her despite the fact that she was already ill with the bubonic plague.

"The beggar woman." Mrs. Lovett whispered before closing her eyes, gulping as if trying to swallow her tears. She had just turned on a light in his mind reflecting her mistake.

Sweeney Todd stood frozen, he couldn't move, he felt emotionless. He killed his wife, he saw her lying on the cold stone floor of the bake house. Flashbacks of Lucy lying emotionless on the floor suddenly sent him into an angry rage.

Noticing Mr. Todd get up with a bolt she sat up more in bed.

Mrs. Lovett automatically stated, "I was only thinking of you." Which was the truth, and nothing but it.

"I'm sorry! I should have told you that she lived but I didn't want to hurt you." Mrs. Lovett practically pleaded not wanting him to hate her, but what did she expect? The man did have the temper of a three year old.

Mr. Todd continued to pace as she went on with her useless apologies and pleads.

"Hurt me?" He spat, finally looking at her, "You have hurt me more than any person I have ever known."

His words were worse than the thought of him slitting her throat. But with them being said he glanced at her practically sobbing face and stormed out of her room.

It was as if there was a hole in his soul from where his heart should have been.

"I'm sorry." She whispered although she knew he couldn't hear her, "I love you."

--

Mr. Todd slammed the door to the bake house and leaned on it, wiping the sweat from his forehead before collapsing on his knees, taking out a razor and scraping the floor with it.

"No," He silently said, "No!" He yelled as he through the very knife that was used to slit his dear wife's throat.

He crumpled himself to the floor and stared into the flames of the bake house oven.

--

Mr. Todd didn't know how long he stayed down in the bake house, hating himself, thinking. But he knew it was dark out when he finally decided to go and tell Mrs. Lovett he would try and see past it. But he would never forgive her nor would he forget.

He had been so suppressed by his past he never came to think that maybe there were others out there suffering. Maybe not from the loss of their family, but from unrequited love. And he was the Judge Turpin in her life, and yet, she never even thought about revenge.

Knocking on the door, there was no answer. So thinking she was asleep he entered and saw her lying there, her face tear stained, yet paler than usual.

"Mrs. Lovett?" Mr. Todd whispered.

He walked over to her bed and knelt beside her. He took her gloved hand and held it, which was oddly cold being that her room was probably one of the warmest in the house.

Her face looked so oddly at peace, and as the seconds went by he noticed more and more things that were simply not right. He didn't see the heave of her chest indicating that she was breathing, her hands were as cold as ice, and her face, her beautiful, porcelain face. It was so still, so calm, so peaceful. Mr. Todd then noticed as he held her hand, that Mrs. Lovett had no pulse.

Mr. Todd knew right then that Mrs. Lovett didn't die of the plague, for he was almost and shamefully positive that she had died of a broken heart.

Sweeney Todd never shed a single tear, but for the first time in his life of living as a demon, he lost another part of himself, and this time he would never be reborn.

His last words he had said to her broke his heart as well. Letting go of her hand, he lied down next to her on the bed and took her hand once more, caressing it with his and shutting his eyes. Hoping to never awake to face reality again.

Mrs. Lovett passed slowly and peacefully in her sleep as her last thoughts were of him and her walking hand in hand along the sea side.

Dreaming of the one she loved, the plague cells finished off cutting off the cells ability to communicate with her other immune system cells of which were needed to fight off the plague bacterial invasion. She withdrew one last dream filled breath and died. Died with idle hope that she would overcome her sickness and finally convince the man that she had dreamed of for so long to finally be hers. _Dreams so tainted. So surreal. So fake. And yet so utterly wanted._

Her final dreams consisting of her dream home, painted a sky blue with white shudders. Two white wicker chairs would sit on the front porch with ottomans in the front so they could look at the stars at night and the beautiful portrait-like skies in the day.

And the highlight of her home would be on the front windowsill, a vase of gillyflowers, maybe.

* * *

_-tear- Please don't hurt me for killing Mrs. Lovett! I was just hoping to show how ironic and tragic love can be. Thanks for reading! I apologize for the wait, I have been busy with vacation and school but today, although I have a crap ton of homework, I felt the need to update. Once again thank you so much for reading._


End file.
